Still
by Erin Kaye Hashet
Summary: She can turn away, or leave, and she knows that he will still be there when she comes back. She does not stand still, and he often thinks that therein lies the attraction. LL one-shot.


**Title:** Still

**Author:** Erin Kaye Hashet

**Rating:** G

**Distribution: **Anywhere, just let me know

**Feedback:**

**Spoilers:** Not really any

**Summary:** She can turn away, or leave, and she knows that he will still be there when she comes back. She does not stand still, and he often thinks that therein lies the attraction. L/L one-shot.

**Disclaimer:** Wishing and wishing won't make these characters mine

**Author's Notes: **I'm still working on "On Life And Stuff," but this was just a little one-shot that I had to get out of my system. Enjoy.

Still

by Erin Kaye Hashet

_The heart can think of no devotion_

_Greater than being shore to ocean_

_Holding the curve of one position_

_Counting an endless repetition_

_-_Robert Frost, "Devotion"

This morning he shaved, oh so carefully—can't have a nick today of all days, it would look bad in pictures and be an annoying little pain on a day when annoying little pains should be the last thing on his mind—and got dressed, staring at himself in the mirror and wishing, for the first time ever, that it wasn't so small, that it was full-length like T.J. wanted, and then he shuddered and told himself never to want anything in his life to be like anything T.J. wants ever again. As he agonized over how he looked, he couldn't stop wondering what she looked like at that moment. Oh, sure, she'd tried on her dress for him, but as beautiful as she had looked, his memory was proving insufficient, and besides, today she must be more luminous than he could possibly imagine. He was silent while he dressed and shaved.

She wouldn't stop talking. She never thought she'd be one of those people who would flip out if this day wasn't absolutely perfect—that would be anal-retentive and too like her mother—but perhaps she was more like her mother than she let herself believe, because there she was, babbling to Rory and Sookie and Lane and Liz about how she wasn't sure that lipstick matched her skin after all and how she refused to have her life resemble an Alanis Morissette song what with the twenty percent chance of rain she'd heard predicted and how she was sure she was going to trip because at important moments in her life she always tripped, like at parties and funerals and at her first day as manager at the Independence Inn. They assured her that her lipstick looked fine and no one was predicting rain and if she was thinking about tripping it would ensure that she wouldn't trip. But that wasn't really what she was worried about.

He loves her. He rarely says it because that's the kind of man he is, but he's shown her in so many ways that he does, and sometimes she wonders why. What has she ever done to deserve his love? She worries often that she hasn't loved him enough, at least outwardly. She knows she loves him more than she could ever express. It's more than just the things he does—always providing her with coffee and support, putting up with her infinite idiosyncrasies, helping her out whenever she needs it, being more of a father to Rory than Christopher has been—because all of those things seem less like actions, things he does deliberately, than reflexes, things he just does naturally that are a reflection on who he is. He's been _there_, no matter what, and today is the day that she confirms that he always will be. She's not used to being able to depend on the men in her life, and it scares her a bit.

"_Will you just stand still?_" he asked her, his voice shaking a bit, before he stepped forward and kissed her that night, right here on this very ground. He stands still now, waiting for her to move toward him on her father's arm.

He has always stood still. He stood still while his classmates fled Stars Hollow for the glamour and excitement of the world, choosing to work in the hardware store and not to abandon the only life he knew, an act that his father appreciated but that he has often considered cowardly. He stood still while Rachel was flying to the ends of the Earth and deciding that he couldn't hold a candle to the promises the world had to offer. He stood still in helplessness while his family, whom he loved with a fierce loyalty and protectiveness, was dying of horrible diseases or fleeing after graduation to become impregnated and miserable.

And he has stood still for her. He has watched her get promoted, buy a house, and raise her daughter. He has watched her start relationships—some more serious than others—and end them, all while silently wishing it could be him. He has watched her struggle and ultimately succeed at running her own business. He has seen her life from a consistent angle for as long as he's known her, and she wonders sometimes if he knows things about her that she doesn't know herself. Through it all, he has been there, pouring the coffee, always willing to listen, always offering help and support. She can turn away, or leave, and she knows that he will still be there when she comes back.

She does not stand still, and he often thinks that therein lies the attraction. She's colorful and full of life, and therefore, she _moves_. He's always been attracted to movement—he was with Rachel for years, after all. She ran from her parents' world, from the life she wanted to escape. She ran from the man she didn't want to marry. She runs in and out of the diner every day, and she runs breezily through her days, fueled by caffeine, the minutiae of her life joyfully spilling out for him to hear about.

And now, as the music swells, she moves down the aisle toward him.

Her beauty is overwhelming. He feels as if he must have been accidentally placed in someone else's life, because there's no way that such a moment could be meant for him, a man who has done nothing but stay in the same place his entire life.

He is standing there, looking as joyous as she feels, looking like the beautiful human being that he is, and her breath catches in her throat. He knows everything about her, good and bad, and he still loves her. How could she have gotten so lucky?

They cannot take their eyes off each other as the ceremony is performed. They barely hear it, focusing instead on each other, both of them still on the grass of the Dragonfly lawn.

"_I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride_."

For a moment, there is no one else. There are no bridesmaids and groomsmen, no family and no friends. Just the two of them kissing. They hear nothing and see nothing but themselves.

As they break away, they hear the applause, and the music beginning again. They look at each other, unable to imagine a time when they will no longer feel like smiling. The moment is over, but they are still together.

And for the rest of their lives, together they will be still.

The End

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